Page 34 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch

‘So we’ll need more boats,’ said Rosie, pointing her pencil at Zain, before adding it to her party to-do list. In truth, her insides were still reeling at the thought of her scary new launch party idea, but they needed something big. And she did love a list.

‘Still no,’ said Zain, his face stony.

And she hadn’t even mentioned the jack-o’-lanterns.

He’d not long come back from his daily patrol of the fields and was taking off his boots outside his cabin.

In fairness, she probably should have waited until he’d had lunch before accosting him with ideas about a launch event and auctioning tickets for candlelit meals on little boats on the lake.

It wasn’t unreasonable to be a touch hangry .

Though maybe it was unreasonable to growl. Rosie huffed back at him.

‘Look, it’s only one night. After that, everything will be tranquil again.

I promise.’ She’d known he wasn’t going to jump up and shout yippee about the extra footfall across his once peaceful home, but it wasn’t as though she was planning party poppers or everybody dancing to ‘Agadoo’ on his precious patches.

It would be a serene celebration, with eating and gentle music and people appreciating nature, and they wouldn’t even encroach onto his fields other than for a hayride or two. She had explained all of that.

Zain sighed. ‘Where would we get more boats?’

‘There’s that guy at the boating lake. He doesn’t use his boats in the evenings, and we’re getting good at calling in favours.’ Zain hated asking for help, but they’d come to learn that needs must.

Zain didn’t reply, which was a whole lot better than a flat ‘no’. Rosie took heart and continued.

‘Once people have looked around the campsite and taken in the view of the pumpkins, I’m seeing picnic blankets around the lake, with guests eating. Maybe campfires to create atmosphere and warmth.’

‘Who’s going to cook all this stuff?’ Zain sat down on the step of his porch and looked out across the lake.

‘That’s a great question. Have you heard of Lukas Knight?’

Zain shrugged.

‘He runs a supper club above the café in the local village. His place has got a Michelin star now, and people pay a fortune to eat his food, even though his style is down to earth and rustic.’

‘So we need to ask for another favour?’

‘His girlfriend Gretel from the café is already a big fan of what we’re doing, and I bet he wouldn’t want an ugly cat factory springing up in his backyard. If we can get him on board it would give us a huge boost for ticket prices.’

She was met with silence again, albeit a contemplative one.

‘You did say you’d still help me, even if...’ She let her words trail off. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to fall for her.

‘Have you spoken to Agnes?’

‘Actually, yes.’

Rosie had marched to the house to speak to her earlier, after her video chat with Vix.

Agnes had admitted that some days she felt tempted to give up the pressures of farm life, and the big house with the nippy breezes and knackered rooftop.

But she’d shown Rosie her quote for a new roof, plus her costs to keep the place running.

The figures had made Rosie’s eyes water – yet nothing was impossible.

If she could just convince Zain to get on board with her launch ideas, surely, they could fight for this?

She pushed her notebook of figures under his nose.

‘This is why we need a flying start.’ She pointed to the amount for the roof alone.

‘We need to make this sum before rainy winter, unless Agnes and the animals turn into amphibious frogs. Either you’re with me, or you can say hello to your new job with The Three Tuxedos, filling in the lake with rock. ’

Well, there was no point in beating around the bush.

‘I can’t think when I’m hungry.’ Zain stood up sharply. ‘Have you eaten?’

Rosie shook her head. She’d been on the go since they’d seen the men from Cyber Purrz that morning, and her stomach had been a knot of nerves.

He eyed her for a moment, then exhaled. ‘Then you’d better come in.’

Rosie nodded. She remembered Vix’s advice to keep the lines of communication open with Zain if she wanted to get to the bottom of things. Although right then, it was enough of a mission to get him onside to save their home.

Rosie followed him into his cabin, trying to ignore the heady scent of cedar and general manly Zain-ness that hung in the air.

Steve was curled up on the foot of his bed, and she resisted the urge to tickle him and whisper traitor into his large, bat-like ear.

He lifted his head and seemed to raise his eyebrows at her, if a hairless cat even had them.

And was that a row of Steve-sized denim waistcoats drying on a makeshift line near the sunny window? Zain would never cease to surprise her.

‘You’ve got it good,’ Rosie giggle-whispered, giving Steve’s bald head a gentle rub.

Zain was busy pulling out bread and hunks of meat and cheese from cupboards and his small fridge.

He looked at his ingredients as though he was considering making something and instead threw it onto a tray with some knives.

He pushed a collection of gnarled pumpkins aside and dropped the tray onto a table.

‘I’ll get beers,’ he said, pacing back to the fridge.

Rosie half-expected him to crack them open with his teeth, but he came back with a Swiss army knife and used the gadget. He put it down and took a swig. The word Dennis was inscribed on it and Rosie remembered Zain mentioning a foster parent with that name.

Inscriptions. Her mind bounced to the box and the thing James had left behind with the inscription that had surprised her.

She was thinking of her late not-quite fiancé more lately – generally not in a positive way – and for some reason he’d crept into her manuscript and had been sized up against Cain .

Though she had the feeling she’d delete James when she got to the root of what was bugging her.

And she was in no rush to ever mention him, or her embarrassing naivety, to Zain.

‘I didn’t steal it,’ said Zain, making her jump from her thoughts by plonking down his beer and sinking into a chair. ‘He died. His wife Pru gave it to me.’

‘Do you miss him?’ Rosie asked gently, as she sat opposite Zain at the table.

He busied himself cutting bread, more roughly than he needed to. ‘Didn’t see him much in his later years. Staying in touch isn’t really a thing when you bounce from home to home. Anyway. I think I disappointed him.’

‘Don’t say that.’ Rosie reached her hand across to touch his arm, then pulled it back. Maybe it was safer if they maintained their boundaries. ‘I’m sure you didn’t.’

‘No need to be sad.’ He dropped a chunk of bread in front of her.

‘I disappoint people at times – which is why you’re better off out of it.

You’re too good for that.’ The look he gave her seemed loaded with apology.

‘It’s just one of life’s facts. Like the grass is green, or like Steve has the same number of legs as a tripod. ’

Zain was clearly trying to make light of it, so she allowed him a smile. ‘I wish you wouldn’t think like that.’

‘What? He’s the fastest cat in the land. I wouldn’t have him any other way.’

‘Not about the cat.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘About yourself. And you should let people make their own judgements.’

His abrupt headshake told her the case was closed.

They prepared their meat and cheese in silence. Rosie still had her notebook for the launch party planning, but it didn’t feel like the moment for that either.

‘Do you want to talk about your parents?’ Rosie asked, before she’d had chance to overthink it. If she ever wanted to understand him, it was a good place to start. She’d wondered about his background since he’d briefly mentioned it.

He looked up at her from his sandwich, seemingly impressed with her boldness.

A few strands of dark hair hung around his face, framing his strong jaw and dancing in front of his eyes.

She felt an urge to reach across and tidy them back into his bun so she could see him properly, but she clamped a hand around her beer.

‘My mum died when I was eleven, though I was in care before that. She had addiction problems. Drugs, gambling, alcohol. Anything she got her hands on she couldn’t get enough of. Except me.’

The final two words came out so softly, Rosie wasn’t even sure that he knew he’d said them.

‘I wasn’t enough. I guess I’m nobody’s addiction.’ The small smile on his lips didn’t fool her. He was trying to make light of things again. That he had to tore a piece of her heart.

She reached across and squeezed his hand, resisting the impulse to jump up and throw her arms around him and tell him how easily she’d become addicted to every fibre of him.

He was so much more than he gave himself credit for.

How could she even express that? She longed for him, as much as she tried constantly to suppress it.

‘Never say that. You have no idea.’ Her eyes welled up, the pressure of tears and sadness almost excruciating. ‘I’m... I’m sorry you had to go through that. I can’t imagine how tough that must have been.’

‘Tough.’ He said it like he was mulling something over. ‘My mum’s sister used that word at the funeral. She was a tough woman to love. You’re better off without her. ’

‘That sounds... harsh?’

‘Yeah. Or stupid. I don’t think anyone ever got it.

’ He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled.

‘I didn’t love my mum one bit less for anything that she ever did.

We’re not programmed like that. It didn’t cross my mind to blame her.

I blamed me. I loved me less. I was the one who wasn’t enough.

Not even for my slightly mean aunt, who had a big enough house and no intention of sharing it. ’

‘No, no, no.’ Rosie squeezed both of his hands with hers, having none left to stop the flow of tears from her eyes.

‘Hey, it’s OK.’ He pulled a hand away and used the corner of his sleeve to wipe her cheeks.

‘It’s just life, isn’t it? We weren’t all built to last the race.

My mum’s probably better off sitting on a cloud.

At least she can’t spend all her time swearing at slot machines up there. And the view must be fantastic.’

They both knew that wasn’t why Rosie’s heart was slowly breaking. Her thoughts went out to the mother who’d lost her way. But sometimes it was the ones who were left behind who struggled to find their path again.

Zain was trying to avoid the heaviness, and something in his eyes told her she should respect that. Dark humour was sometimes his way.

‘I suppose you want to know about my dad now?’ His smile was wry. Almost playful.

‘No! I honestly didn’t come here to be nosy.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, before you ask, Montana is a long way.’

‘Oh. You didn’t ever think about...?’

Zain placed a finger on her nose, which was almost certainly a little snotty. She would normally have been self-conscious, but somehow, in that moment, they were beyond that.

He took a swig of his beer. ‘Some things can’t be fixed.

’ He pointed the bottle towards her notebook.

‘Anyway, we were meant to be coming up with plans for your thing. Maybe that’s something we can have some control over.

But the past? The past is done.’ His look said he didn’t want to hear any more about it. She could hardly blame him for that.

‘OK. But if you ever want to talk...’

‘Understood. Now, work. Sometimes you and your notebooks are a welcome distraction.’

‘Right, yes.’ Rosie shook herself down and grabbed her pen.

She needed to get back onto safer territory.

Territory where she didn’t want to throw her arms around Zain and make everything all right.

Much like Steve the cat, maybe the things he’d been lacking had made him stronger.

And it wasn’t her place to try and fix any parts of him that needed healing, as much as her instincts begged to.

Zain had made it clear he didn’t want that, and it was tricky enough to get him onside when it came to work matters.

If they were going to come together to save their homes, she couldn’t risk rocking their already precarious boat.

And she didn’t want her heart to be thrown overboard by him again.

‘Maybe your partygoers would be drawn in by magical sunsets and stargazing. And your chef could do a pumpkin harvest feast theme.’

Her heart gave a little skip. And there she’d been, hoping that talk of work would make her want to hug him less. Why did he come up with ideas that made her swoony?

‘Great.’ She busied her hands with adding items to her list.

‘And your hayrides. I can organise that. I have ideas from stuff I’ve seen at my paternal family’s place, in the US. I mean, it was a long time ago. I was only there briefly, and it didn’t work out.’

His voice had trailed off a bit. Rosie stayed quiet, wondering if he wanted to talk.

‘You know, they could trace their history right back to the early settlers, who learned how to cultivate the fruit from Native Americans. Can you imagine? Hundreds of years of belonging to something and farming one of the oldest known crops. Deep roots. Hard toil. The joy of watching something grow. Something you planted and cared for, with your own bare hands.’

Now and again, Zain disappeared into something that sounded like the perfectly written musings of his soul.

That had been one of those moments. Where did it come from?

It was a far cry from the reclusive, huffy Zain she’d first met, who’d made her believe he’d barely seen a classroom.

Though she knew he couldn’t be harbouring a secret library of poetic pumpkin verse.

‘Maybe that’s why you’re so connected to the land, Zain. It’s in you.’

She thought she saw the smallest inkling of pride wash over his face, before he quickly straightened his features.

‘Maybe I have too much time on my hands, and I get on better with plants than people.’ The corners of his mouth lifted.

‘You’re improving with the people thing.’

‘Hope not. Must put a stop to that.’ He took a swig of his beer and stood.

‘Did you know Agnes has a back kitchen? She never uses it, though the equipment in there isn’t so bad.

With a good clean-up it might work for your chef guy.

If we’re going to do this thing properly, we’ll need more than a few burnt campfire offerings.

I don’t know whether we can beat The Three Tuxedos, but I do know that giving up is not in my blood.

And nor is pouring concrete into lakes.’

At that, Rosie jumped up and allowed herself to throw her overjoyed arms around him. She was only human, after all.